Don't Talk To Strangers (nanowrimo post 2)
***
Chris woke up, his head was very foggy. It took him a few minutes to realize where he was, and why he was holding a dirty bear. Oh, yes. He’d found Mr. Ian last night!
He was sore from the cramped position he’d slept in. He got up, opened the closet door and stepped out into the hallway. It wasn’t until he came down and saw the mess that he remembered everything last night. This was going to take forever to clean! He saw the clock in the kitchen. He had a half hour to get to work. SHIT. He ran downstairs to change and grabbed some clean scrubs. He dressed and grabbed his coat. At least he’d had sense enough not to throw the keys! He jumped in the car, drove to town and hit McRonald’s drive-through on the way in. He hated fast food, but he didn’t have time to eat properly.
Work wasn’t too busy; at lunch he sat in the staff room, and ate something from the mess. Nothing unusual. No one thought he seemed edgy, or aloof, or out of it. He really blended in well, he supposed. He’d had this job for over two years, they all just took him for granted by now.
He drove home, got out of the car, and walked to the door. When he opened it Margo snaked out. Poor thing, he’d forgotten to let her out this morning! He’d also not fed her. He waked into the house, grabbed her bowl and filled it with food from the bag in the corner. He also filled her water. Poor thing.
Then he looked at the mess. What a mess it was! Good time to get rid of some things he supposed. But first, dinner.
After dinner he flicked on the television in the living room. He figured he’d catch a early morning B-movie, and reorganize his Manga. A program with what looked to be a sleestack came on the screen, terrorizing a small town. He got down on the floor to sort the Manga. A stack for each series:
Buso Renkin - The first set he ever completed, it had an easy to follow story and the art wasn’t buried in unnecessary layers.
Helsing: Full of blood and gore with vampires and Nazis, his mother would have burned them. Maybe that’s why he liked them so much.
Bleach: Memorable characters, with a view of the afterlife he’d never thought about before.
Twenty minutes later they were all sorted by series. Putting them in sequence wouldn’t take too much longer, but he was feeling very tired. Lack of Heme tired. He knew the feeling well. He went into the kitchen and got a wine glass, then went down to the basement for the blood.
He brought the full glass back up and sat in the easy chair. He sat down and felt something under him. Mr. Ian. He needed washing, he put him in a pillowcase and put him in the washer on gentle. He hoped he didn’t fall apart. He came back to the television and sat down again. He picked up the glass of blood. The light from the television shone through the liquid in the glass, he studied it for a minute. It looked a bit like red wine, kind of pretty through the glass. He delicately sipped it.
The program had switched to some old movie called War Games. He noticed this movie had horrible effects, but the plot was semi-believable. The props and situations were so old! It was quite amusing. He finished the glass and got up for another. He sipped it slowly as the movie finished. He looked at the clock, 5 am. Time for sleep.
When he awoke he remembered about the mess, but no time for that now. In fact he’d slept late again and had to rush to make it to work. Work was busy! He flopped into his chair at lunch, and practically fell asleep. He grabbed an energy drink to make it through the rest of the day.
The week was going by fast, he’d made it up to four glasses of blood a day. That seemed to be keeping him level. It was really nice to actually have energy. It reminded him of the first time he’d gotten Heme. It made him feel so alive, so full of energy. He’d been lethargic for so long it was amazing. Almost a brand new feeling. But it still didn’t fix the light sensitivity and after the school said they couldn’t/wouldn’t accommodate him Mother had decided to home school him. So much for actually being able to keep up with his classmates in things like P.E.
On Thursday his first package came. The on-call nurse just handed it to him. No questions. When he got home he almost threw it away, but then he remembered how good he was feeling. He wanted that feeling to last.
It was the make-up. All of it. He looked at it long enough to make sure the entire order was there, and it was the right product. He remembered the dress thrown into the downstairs coat closet. He put it in the bag with the dress, he wouldn’t need it yet. He didn’t need it, yet.
The house was partially clean. He’d cleaned up the ceramic shards in the living room. He even vacuumed it.
He hadn’t even touched downstairs yet. That was his plan for tonight. He liked the four days on, three days off schedule he had, even if they were ten hour days.
He turned on some Death Cab for Cutie: Transatlanticism. Old now, but he had just been introduced to them a couple of years ago. Hopefully it would keep him calm while cleaning.
He started with the pantry, some of it was home canned stuff, a couple of them had even broken, he'd wondered why the basement smelled like spoiled fruit. He’d need a large garbage can. Up the stairs, out to the garage, and back down. O.K., all the home canned got chucked. They were all several years out of date, and things he’d never eat anyway. That cleared almost a whole shelf.
When he was young he was the one who always got sent down for food, he guessed he should thank her that he knew how to read can labels before anything else. He organized them, that part about him he did like. You could actually FIND things that way. Maybe that’s why the killing had gone so well. He super planned it. Over-analyzed it. Every move, every possible reaction, every possible outcome.
He looked at the labels: corn, green beans, peas, and pearl onions…Oh, God! Those were definitely going somewhere, maybe the food bank, he was sure someone liked them. But not him; they looked like eyeballs, and felt chewy in his mouth, and were hard to swallow. He had to eat them practically every Sunday though. Mother had read in some recipe book it made your dish more elegant, so she added them to Sundays’ roast. Roast beef, roast pork, roast lamb, roast chicken, and even duck when Dad hunted. Every time those damn onions. He set ten cans of them to the side.
The top of the pile was mostly vegetables. He also found creamed corn, beets, All-Veg, baby corn, spinach, kidney beans, garbanzo beans, asparagus, and hominy? O.K., the hominy and spinach were going in the box. (Because by now it would definitely be a box.) He’s seen people in mess put beans on their salad. He’d try them.
Onto cans with meat in them. Spem? When did they start eating Spem? Only one can. He looked at the can, it looked really strange. And over to the side he noticed a booklet. “Cooking with Spam” that’s why she bought it, it had a recipe booklet with it. The booklet said it was released in 1974. No wonder that can looked strange. It was scarily old. He chucked it. The booklet might be worth something though. He set it to the side.
O.K. - chili, canned chicken chunks, pork and beans, tuna, canned salmon, canned beef in gravy. Must be things his Dad bought after mother left. She didn’t much go for canned meats. It was always fresh as she could get. Unless Dad brought home a Deer or Elk or something. Most of that made it to the freezer. He hadn’t even looked in the chest freezer in the garage since he’d gotten here. He hoped it was empty, because the last time dad could actually make it out hunting Chris had been thirteen. He seemed to lose the want to when the Prophyria hit. Said he didn’t like hunting without his boy. If it did have Deer (or Elk) in it, it would be far too old to eat.
He decided to take the canned meat to the kitchen, and get a box for the others. Just because she’d had all the food downstairs didn’t mean he had to! Things that he’d bought since coming home had been sparse. He usually ate at work.
Back downstairs, boxed foods next, there weren’t many of these either. A few boxes of macaroni and cheese he was sure had weevils in them. Some Rice-a-Toni, and some potato mixes. All of them had dust, and the packaging looked to be from the ’80s. He chucked them all.
O.K. that pile was back in place. He looked at the bins at the bottom of the pantry. Dry beans, rice, lentils, and sugar. These seemed to be fine. He left them.
Now to clean up the rest of the room. The flashlight he’d broken the bulb in, and it was really old anyway. He chucked it. The 8-tracks were tapes of sermons. He chucked them as well. There were over thirty of them, the garbage was getting pretty full. He wondered if sweeping up the papers would be faster than picking up every one. He tried. All the did was float up and around made it even worse. They must have been transcripts of the sermons, all mimeographed, he chucked them as well. The garbage was completely full now!
In fact he had trouble getting the can up the stairs. He’d also forgotten he lived here now and hadn’t bothered to separate it for burning. Fuck it, he’d take a load to the dump or something.
He walked back into the kitchen, and looked at the pile of utensils and other things from the drawers on the floor. The top of the pile were the fancy dinner napkins they’d used on Sundays. He picked them up and put them in a box he’d brought in from outside. Those and the memories they carried would definitely be going bye-bye.
Apparently the nice silver had been in with them. That he did want to keep. This was going to take a while! Everything had gotten mixed with everything else. He was so regretting that now.
He needed a break, he went downstairs and turned on the computer. He’d missed some IMs. Nothing too important, just people wondering where he was. He opened Utube. Some people he liked had made some videos. He watched a few Vlogs, and some indie music videos. He then clicked on a related video to make-up tips. He actually watched it, with interest.
By this time it was early morning. He crawled into bed, exhausted.
***
The next evening after he got up and had a breakfast of eggs and sausage (with two glasses of blood), friend3 called.
“Hey!”
“Hey,”
“Want to go to a party tonight?”
“Sure. Where?”
“ Alan’s, it’s just a few people, spur of the moment thing.”
He paused. “I haven’t seen or heard from you for a couple weeks. Everything O.K.?”
“Yeah, just still settling in. Found an old teddy bear. Made me think of things.”
“Your mom. Dude, I’m sorry. Well, come, O.K.?”
“What time?’
“At about eight, I can come pick you up.”
“Great, see you then. Bye.”
“Bye.”
It was only six, plenty of time to get ready. friend3 was his one true friend. The one who still came to see him after the onset of the disease, the one who snuck him comics and fantasy books, like Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings. He also would cover for him for things.
The times he’d gone with him to supposedly see The Passion of the Christ again, in fact he’d supposedly gone to see it four times. His mother was so happy he’d liked it that much. In truth he’d only seen it the one time the family had gone together. But Friend3 was his alibi.
He’d been so happy when Chris had moved, he even offered to let him stay with them. But Chris had said no. Knowing his alternate lifestyle would affect everyone in the house, and sooner or later they’d regret it.
He’d taken a shower and put on something he hoped was O.K. he’d only been to Alan’s once, and if he remembered right he was kind of stuck up. But he needed to get his mind off of things.
Friend3 was on time, he honked and Chris went out to the car. Nickelback was blasting out of the car. Chris didn’t like them, but he did like friend3, so he got in and pushed skip on the ePod. Neutral Milk Hotel came up. Much better.
When they got to the party it was a bit bigger than friend3 had said it would be, Chris knew two people. So he stayed very close to Friend3. The beer was decent, and after a few of them it made him feel very nice. But he knew he couldn’t get drunk. Drunks talk, about everything.
Friend3, however got plastered and passed out. It’s a good thing there were others at the party. He got a couple of them to help him get Friend3 to the car so he could drive back to his house. He’d wake in the car. But Chris could not afford to be there when the sun came up. No protection. They’d think he was “over-reacting”. Half the people he’d meet when he’d tell them what he had had never heard of it, so they think it isn’t real, or in his head. It got so annoying! He’d mostly just watched friend3 talk to other people. He hoped they could do something alone next time. It was so much easier. He didn’t feel intimidated one on one like he did at things like this.
He drove them to his house, and left the keys in the ignition. They’d done this a couple of times. He knew when Friend3 woke, he’d just slide over and drive home. He was tired, and even though he should have done something productive, he walked over to the bed and collapsed.
He woke earlier than usual, it was still daylight outside and his clock said 3pm. It was a good thing the curtains in the basement were thick. Even the little bit of light could cause horrible blisters that took weeks to disappear. He started to go upstairs and stopped halfway up. Sunlight? Coming from where. Upstairs had thick curtains too. He went to the closet, grabbed winter gloves, a ski mask, dark sunglasses, and his thick winter coat - he couldn’t be trapped downstairs. He needed the toilet. He was also starving.
He put the gear on and started back up the stairs. Then changed his mind and went back for a weapon. What if someone was in the house? He grabbed Dad’s deer rifle, the shells were next to it. He’d pulled it in from the garage earlier, but hadn’t had time to do more than bring it into the house. He wish he’d made it more of a priority now. The shells were old, and it looked as if the box had gotten wet. He opened the chamber, checked the barrel, and loaded it. He clicked it shut and put more shells in his coat pocket. Then holding the gun in front of him, cautiously walked up the stairs. At the top of the stairs he saw that the light was from the kitchen window. It had gotten pulled over…was there someone in the house?
He looked around the kitchen, nothing else seemed disturbed. He heard something. He put the gun up to his shoulder and when the shadow came close enough he fired, he heard a click…
Nothing.
The shadow came closer, he didn’t have time to reload, whomever it was came into view. It was Margo! Instantly he was glad the gun had not gone off. He called her to him and (like most cats) she just looked at him. So, he went over to her and asked her ”Did you move the curtain?“ as if she could answer. She blinked at him and walked into the living room. Maybe she had? He’d only been here a few weeks. Maybe since he’d been gone Mother had let her into the windows? He’d have to tack them to the walls. Right after he shut this one, so he could pee and eat. Then he noticed.
He’d already peed. Shower, then eat.
He went back down the stairs and peeled everything off, the winter items got thrown on the bed, everything else into the washer. It was then he noticed Mr. Ian, he’d never moved him to the dryer. He did and turned it on. The house was so old you either did laundry OR had a shower. He chose the shower first. He grabbed a new outfit and headed up the stairs in the buff. This was also a sin, and he yelled ‘See! Mother! See!” even he wasn’t sure why.
The shower was upstairs but the water heater was in the basement. He remembered when he was young mother didn’t want to waste water so the first few inches of water in the bath was ice cold, and just about the time the water got nice and warm out of the spout, she’d stop filling the tub. So he turned it on and waited, and had the longest shower, all warm. He wasn’t sure why he felt like spiting her today, but it sure felt good!
He dried, dressed and came downstairs to start the washer. Then went back up to finally eat. He’d gone past starving awhile ago, but he could not eat smelling like piss. He grabbed a can of tuna and made a sandwich. Actually, two of them.
He also took a coffee cup and went down and filled it with blood, he was getting more used to the taste now, it was as if you put a penny in you mouth and sucked on it. But more crisp and sharp, and it stayed in the back of his throat for awhile. But it made him feel so good.
The sun had gone down now, he had the entire evening to either clean, work on the gun, or play on the internet. He decided he’d better work on the gun. He went out to the garage and looked for the gun cleaning kit. It was old and the pre-soaked cleaning pads were dried out. Completely. He looked for more solvent. The kit was actually his. The whole kit was there, rod, bore brush, solvent, drying pads. He remembered Dad always keeping the guns ready when he was young.
Ah, yes, a container of solvent. He took it back into the house. He sat down in the living room and flipped on FUSE, the rock video station. My Chemical Romance played while he put cleaner on a pad and put the rod in, up and down he cleaned to the beat of the song. The pad was black almost immediately. He put another on the end of the rod and pushed it up and down, up and down. AFI came on, another pad. Up and down vigorously. This thing was so dirty! He switched to the bore brush, the solvent he was sure by now had loosened some of the dirt. Boy had it ever, big chuncks came up whenever he pulled the brush out. Perhaps he should have put some paper down? He set the gun against a chair and spread an old paper on the floor. He didn’t want to have to try and get this mess out of the carpet. He’d also forgotten how strong the smell of the solvent was. It took his mind back, back to hunting trips, back to before he couldn’t be out in the sun, back to the first time he’d actually hit the can he was aiming at. Dad was so proud! He wondered if he could even hit anything anymore. He’d have to go out and see. If Margo really had been an intruder, Chris could have been dead.
The brush wasn’t getting chunks anymore, he switched back to the rod and a pad with solvent, he soaked it heavily. Up and down, up and down. Seether came on ‘Rise Above This’ he actually liked this video. The motion went with the beat again, and the gun became a spur of the moment microphone.
“Call your name everyday, when I feel so helpless
I'm fallen down but I'll rise above this, rise above this
Hate your mind, regrets are better left unspoken
For all we know this void will grow
And everything's in vain, distressing you, don't leave me open
Feels so right that I'll end this all before it gets me”
He stopped singing for a second, Margo came in and rubbed his leg. He’d forgotten to feed her again. While he was getting the food he continued…
“I'll mend myself before it gets me
I'll mend myself before it gets me
I'll mend myself before it gets me
I'll mend myself before it gets me
Call your name everyday when I feel so helpless
I'm fallen down but I'll rise above this, rise above this
Forty eight ways to say that I'm feeling helpless
Fallen down and I'll rise above this, rise above this
Rise above this, rise above this now”
His mother would’ve hated that song. She wouldn’t be able to get past the style of it to actually listen to the lyrics, and he just sang it out loud in her house. He smiled.
He filled Margo’s water too. The gun was getting slightly cleaner, after three more heavily soaked pads he switched to the bore brush again. More chunks. It’s a good thing he put the paper down, it was getting quite black. In and out, up and down. His arm was getting sore. The chunks became smaller and he switched back to the rod. He didn’t remember it ever taking this long before. But then, they had cleaned them before and after they went out. Target practice or actual hunting.
He went down memory lane again, Dad teaching him how to hold the gun, how to sight something in, and he remembered something else. Sharing a tent with his uncle, who snored. He laughed out loud and changed back to the bore brush. No more chunks. Maybe he was closer to having it clean than he thought.
He put more solvent on yet another pad, there were over twenty littering the paper now, and continued going up and down, in and out. FUSE switched to something heavier and it was just a bit screamy for his taste. He grabbed the remote to switch stations.
He’d had the satellite hooked up before he’d even come back, friend3 had let them in, his mother of course didn’t even consider it. Though at the home she had found the televangelist channels wonderful.
He found a late night slasher movie. Some college kids up in a cabin getting killed off one by one. It was gory, and they all screamed a lot. He was enjoying it though, while still cleaning the gun. Would the pads ever come out clean?
Halfway through the movie the pads finally started coming out grey instead black, his arm was getting really sore by now. He’d had to rest a few times. He was glad that for some reason Dad had bought a really large box of them, he would have been out long ago otherwise.
Near the end of the movie the pad finally came out clean! That had taken forever, and he had a huge mess of them at his feet.
He was also hungry. He went to the kitchen and opened two cans of chili. The smell of the solvent was still in his nose, but opening the cans of chili helped with that. He’d purchased cheese and sour cream. This would be good. While the chili heated on the stove, he grated some cheese and stirred the container of sour cream. He also went down for another cup of blood. When the chili was hot enough he smothered the chili with the cheese and sour cream and sat down to eat.
Sadly he did not think of the clash of flavors with the blood.
After the first bite, and then the first sip of blood he knew he needed milk instead. He put the glass in the fridge intending to drink it later, and poured a large glass of milk. Margo came and rubbed his legs and meowed. Little beggar. He got up and poured her a saucer of milk.
He didn’t know where this appetite was from but he quite liked it, his skinny frame could do with a bit of bulk.
He went back into the living room, now that the gun was clean on the inside, the outside needed cleaned as well. He put the gun oil on a soft cotton cloth and began rubbing the outside of the gun. It didn’t take long and came out all nice and shiny.
He just thought of another problem. How would he practice shooting if he couldn’t be in the sun?
He walked downstairs to put the gun by the bed, he’d have to buy some decent shells, if the one didn’t work, chances were they all were duds. His computer glowed on the desk. He needed interaction.
He opened his browser and went on a search for a chat he’d never used. There was a “local friends” chat. He chose “California” and then “Just a friendly chat”.
After all this was just an experiment. He entered “Kris” for a chat name and entered the room. He also put Kris’s IM in the info.
Kris has entered the room.
Huluman: Oh, right pixie.
Salem: You couldn’t if you tried.
R. : You can’t even spell.
Kris: Hello.
Pixie: can two spel
Iantric: LOL, no, no, you clearly cannot.
Sarah: Leave her be, she’s probably young.
Huluman: Well, then she doesn’t belong here.
Iantric: I am young.
R.: Yes, but you can spell.
Pais: Pixie, either learn to spell, or quit getting upset when people make fun of you for not being able to.
Pais: Oh, and hello Kris.
Huluman: As I was saying, stay away from McRonald’s in south Anehiem, outbreak of food poisoning.
Iantric: Oh, where did you hear that?
Pixie: ewww
Pais: Are you sure they aren’t just sick?
Huluman: No, it’s real. It’s a friend.
Kris: Have they been to the hospital?
Huluman: Yes, still there.
Salem: That’s sad, I’m sorry.
Iantric: So, Kris - A/S/L
Kris: 21, Female, Fresno
R.: I’m in Fresno.
Kris: Why is your name a letter?
Salem: Welcome Kris.
R.: It’s easier.
Kris: Thank you Salem.
Pixie: I dun wan tok ‘bout food poisening, N e 1 want to tok abt movies?
Kris: Do you really type that way all the time Pixie?
Pixie: naw, skool stuff I hafta spel
Kris: Then why do it in here?
Iantric: It IS rather annoying.
Salem: I agree.
Huluman: Please Pixie, use English, or move to another room for younger people.
Pixie: I dun hafta take this.
User Pixie has left the room.
Sarah: She was so hard to read!
Sarah: Hello Kris, I am female, 18, and in Carlsbad.
Huluman: Yo! dude, I’m 17, and in San Diego.
Huluman, Oh yeah, and male.
Pais: Hey Kris, 25, female, San Francisco!
Salem: Hello Kris, I am also in san fran.
And the chat went on, he stayed in it for a good hour learning things about them, like where they worked, what their interests were. Why they were also awake at four in the morning. They all seemed perfectly fine with him “being” a girl. But he knew he’d need a picture soon. Before the next chat.
He signed off. He wanted ice cream. He didn’t now where the craving came from but it was there. Super strong. Did he even have any? He checked the freezer in the kitchen and found a whole chicken, some steaks, and several T.V. dinners, but no ice cream. But the fridge was old and the freezer small, so maybe Dad had put some in the chest freezer in the garage. He threw on a jacket and went out to the garage. The freezer was running, so it had to have something in it. He walked over and opened it. A stack of Salisbury steak meals, probably twenty of them, and a 5 gallon bucket of chocolate ice cream. It hadn’t even been touched. YES!
He came back into the house and made a huge bowl of ice cream, not as big as that kid did in Home Alone, but still very large. He went downstairs, flicked on the big screen and went for some old sci-fi. There was a Twilight Zone marathon going. He’d only seen a couple so he watched with keen interest. He fell asleep in the chair with a still half-full bowl of ice cream while the episode Living Doll was beginning:
Talky Tina, the doll that does everything, a lifelike creation of plastic and springs and painted smile. To Erich Streator, she is a most unwelcome addition to his household- but without her, he'd never enter The Twilight Zone.
He awoke with the television on a horrible dinosaur show and he and the chair covered in melted chocolate ice cream. Margo was lapping the small puddle that still remained in the bowl. It’s a good thing he had plenty of time to get ready for work, this time he needed it. He showered, dressed, and got out the shopvac to attack the chair with, he put it by it, but he’d have to do it when he came back from work.
Work was slow, he sneaked an IV port and two blood bags throughout the day. He’d thought about sneaking Heme once or twice, but here they counted it; and besides, if he did take it, someone else would have to wait even longer for theirs.
When he got home and walked in the door a wall of sour milk smell greeted him, he couldn’t imagine the smell had it been summer!
He didn’t even change, he went down and immediately started working on the chair. Margot went and hid. She hated the sound of that thing. This shopvac was really old and not really intended to be a furniture cleaner. He made do with it though, over the same spots again and again. Not only was he getting the chocolate ice cream, he was getting years of dirt. The water was almost black at first. Ewwww. He didn’t feel like running up and down the stairs so the dirty water went into the washer. After three buckets he ran a spin cycle to get it down the drain.
He also realized the chair was not brown as he’d thought. It was a very a very bright ‘70s orange. No wonder his mother had banished it to the basement.
About two hours later the front of the chair was a very, very bright orange and the water was coming up clear. He took a break. Though the chair still had a brown back, he figured that wouldn’t take nearly as long, no foam for the dirt to get down into. However, it had wasted most of his evening. He dumped the vacuum full of water into the washer. He went over to the fridge and grabbed the cup of blood from earlier. It has coagulated and turned brown. Oops. He dumped that into the washer too and turned it onto a new spin. He also realized he’d skipped it yesterday, that had to be why he’d fallen asleep in the chair! He went and got a large milk glass and filled it with blood. The early morning news was talking about a storm coming up. It gave him an idea. Storms can kill idiots who go out in them, can’t they.
He checked his supply, over half gone. He’d have to plan something soon, and he wasn’t even close to ready. He’d only talked to those people once. No one lets you come over after talking to them once. Some do pick you up for a concert after talking for a week though. He’d been himself then, and it was actually just for a concert. This would be harder.
He looked at the clock 3 am. Maybe he’d play around a bit with the make-up and get a picture up tonight.
He went to the coat closet and pulled out the bag, he remembered watching his mother put on makeup. Only once a week. For church, for the lord. Any other time it was vanity, she’d said.
He started with the foundation, the first one was much too dark, the next too light, and they didn’t really come off all that well. How the hell was he supposed to do this? Then he remembered, Mother had some cleaner stuff she used after church. He went looking for it. Ah, yes, that worked.
This was going to be more difficult than he thought. He looked at her makeup. All dried out now. But he pulled one and held it against the foundations he’d bought. One tube matched really well. He tried that. It looked much better. Why hadn’t he thought of that before!?
It felt so weird though, like he was purposefully getting his face dirty. He decided he needed the blush next, but he had no idea how to apply it. He basically attacked his face with it, as if he was trying to make his cheeks happy trees. This did not work, his cheeks looked like he had measles or something.
He sighed, this was indeed going to take some practice. He decided to try the eyeliner. His eyes didn’t like that at all, the blinked and teared up. How on earth did they get it straight and even?
How about the eye shadow, that went slightly smoother, though he got far too much on and too high.
The mascara he’d saved for last, and of course poked his eyes with it, and got it on the eyelids he’d just done, and had “tarantula” eyes. He didn’t even attempt using the eyelash curler. His fingers were covered in make-up as well. How the hell did women do this?
He looked in the mirror. Kris looked like a drag queen whore who’d been beaten up. That would never do. He definitely needed practice. He washed his face with his mother's cold cream. Chris stared back at him in the mirror.
He went down to the computer. He did a web search for “putting on make up“. Several videos came up. He watched a few and leaned that you are supposed to “paint” the blush on the apple of your cheek, and hold your eyelid down for the eyeliner. The eye shadow is supposed to be just that, a shadow. He’d put far too much mascara on. He would figure this out. But it was late. Time for bed. For some reason he wanted Mr. Ian to sleep with, so he pulled him out of the dryer. He’d come out rather nice, fluffy and clean. He fell asleep holding the bear in his arms.
***
When he awoke a chill had settled in. Autumn was finally here. The news said it had gone below freezing in the night. Margo had been curled up beside him. Though she was a white long haired Persian, she still didn’t like winter. He hadn’t made coffee in the morning now for a couple of weeks, just a glass of blood. He had woken earlier than usual and took it down and went onto the internet.
Michael was awake. He IMed him
Chris: Hey.
Michael: YO!
Chris: How’s life?
Michael: Fine, got good grades on my last report card. You in the mood for a game?
Chris: Not really. I was just wondering if you‘d heard about the storm coming your way?
Michael: Yeah, supposed to be here on Thursday. Dad has the storm cellar all checked out for it. He made me help.
Chris: There aren’t many storms there, why do you have a storm cellar?
Michael: Mom and Dad moved here from Kansas so they put one in.
Chris: I was thinking of visiting…
Michael: Bad, bad timing. Unless you want to be stuck in a storm cellar with me and my parents.
Chris: Maybe next time then.
Michael: Yeah maybe. Hey, Darren wants to play Halo, I’ll talk to you later , k?
Chris: Okay.
Another message came onto his screen, for Kris, from Salem.
Salem: Hey.
Kris: Hey sweetie.
Salem. What are you doing?
Kris: Wasting time before work. You?
Salem. Trying to get a face right on a painting.
Kris: You paint?
Salem: Yeah, just something for fun. (link)
Kris : Oh, nice.
Salem. Thanks, so what sort of work do you do again?
Kris: I am a night duty nurse.
Salem: Ah, that has to be difficult.
Kris: Not really. Everyone is usually asleep. I am not in the E.R or anything.
Salem: I see…
And they talked for an hour. Salem was very pleasant. He didn’t even ask for a picture. Though Chris knew he would need one soon.
Work went smoothly, and on his way to lunch Margie called him over to the nurses station. He had a package. And she said “Wigs? What did you order wigs for?“ Chris said ”I’d ordered them for Halloween, but they were on backorder. I figured I can still use them next year.” He smiled . She smiled back, and turned to her computer.
He had to get this picture done. It was getting closer to the end of the month and his blood supply was almost half gone. When he got home he a dug out the make-up again. After fighting with it for nearly two hours, applying, taking it off, applying again, and taking it off. He finally managed something that was not Ru-paul.
He got out the wigs. He had decided Kris would have long hair first, that way later she could dye it, and cut it. Blonde first then. He already had blonde hair, so the eyebrows did not pose the problem they could have.
He put the wig on, but he had stragglers of hair under it. He then remembered seeing someone put hose on their head before putting on a wig. He went to see if Mother had any, she did. He cut the end of one of the legs off, and plastered his real hair to his head with it, the wig looked much better now. In fact he looked pretty, really pretty. He hadn’t even used the mascara this time. Perhaps he wouldn’t need to.
He went to get the dress, he’d actually remembered to put the white turtleneck on. He would look very prudish. But he wanted to. The shelfmart dress had a white background, with slightly puffed sleeves. He chose a thin silver chain with a small pendant to wear. He’d make sure his hair covered his ears for now. He wouldn’t worry about earrings yet.
He took four or five pictures, one smiling, one sad, one with no expression, one pouty, it was kind of fun actually. He chose a slightly bemused one and uploaded it to the IM, and the friends chat.
For some reason R. noticed this. He left Kris a comment on his profile. “You need a different lipstick.”
Kris IMed him back.
Kris: Why?
R. : Too dark for you, looks funny.
Kris. Thanks, I guess?
R. You’ll get the hang of it.
Kris: The hang of what?
R. Make-up. I bet your mom wouldn’t let you wear it.
Kris: Is it that obvious?
R. No, most guys won’t notice.
Kris: Then how come you do?
R. I just do. Your dress is also very…um…Christian.
R. Later.
Chris still wasn’t sure how to read R., but he couldn’t worry about it now. He was still in the dress. The dress R. insulted. He decided he might need something fancier and went looking online.
Now that he had a size, he went looking at sites like Macey’s and DEB. Special occasion ball gown? Too fancy. Club wear? Maybe. Special occasion short? That looked promising. Something with straps for sure, he had nothing to hold a strapless up with. The prom dresses were really fancy, he just wanted something elegant. Something short, so he could walk in it. He sighed. This was going to take longer than he thought. He didn’t want to look like a fake barbie doll.
Some of these things were hideous. Big puffy sleeves, or huge loud prints. Or skirts so tight he didn’t see how anyone could walk with them on. He just wanted something simple, but pretty. Something… something that said feminine.
He also needed better boobs. The socks he was currently wearing were A. rubbing his skin just the little time he wore them, and B. looked fairly lumpy. The picture he used had barely any of them in it. Just enough to tell Kris wasn’t flat-chested. But if he was going to show up somewhere as Kris, and go out to dinner, or a movie, or something, they had to look real.
First he found costume ones, they didn’t look like they’d work at all. Then a site to make your own with water balloons and rice, jello, or pudding. They looked cold, and suppose one decided to leak? Perhaps they’d work for pictures though. Then he found breast forms. Those looked promising. He spent a least an hour on the site. Reading the cautions, seeing how they worked. The price was steeper than he had anticipated, but he needed this to work. He’d already started, no turning back now. He’d order them later. He’d try the cheaper route first.
He’d also found a place for shoes. The internet was such a wonderful place when you needed to be secretive. They were expensive as well. This was going to take a bit longer than he’d anticipated.
He got up and out of the dress , he’d been in it for several hours now. As he was undressing he thought about his legs. He’d have to shave them. Though he was blonde, he had hair you could most definitely see.
He left the dress in a pile, but put the wig on the corner of the mirror. His mother didn’t have a wig stand he could steal. He used the cold cream on his face and took a shower.
Then changed into pajama’s for another “evening” of ice cream and late night Television. Purchasing things would have to wait.
Chris woke up, his head was very foggy. It took him a few minutes to realize where he was, and why he was holding a dirty bear. Oh, yes. He’d found Mr. Ian last night!
He was sore from the cramped position he’d slept in. He got up, opened the closet door and stepped out into the hallway. It wasn’t until he came down and saw the mess that he remembered everything last night. This was going to take forever to clean! He saw the clock in the kitchen. He had a half hour to get to work. SHIT. He ran downstairs to change and grabbed some clean scrubs. He dressed and grabbed his coat. At least he’d had sense enough not to throw the keys! He jumped in the car, drove to town and hit McRonald’s drive-through on the way in. He hated fast food, but he didn’t have time to eat properly.
Work wasn’t too busy; at lunch he sat in the staff room, and ate something from the mess. Nothing unusual. No one thought he seemed edgy, or aloof, or out of it. He really blended in well, he supposed. He’d had this job for over two years, they all just took him for granted by now.
He drove home, got out of the car, and walked to the door. When he opened it Margo snaked out. Poor thing, he’d forgotten to let her out this morning! He’d also not fed her. He waked into the house, grabbed her bowl and filled it with food from the bag in the corner. He also filled her water. Poor thing.
Then he looked at the mess. What a mess it was! Good time to get rid of some things he supposed. But first, dinner.
After dinner he flicked on the television in the living room. He figured he’d catch a early morning B-movie, and reorganize his Manga. A program with what looked to be a sleestack came on the screen, terrorizing a small town. He got down on the floor to sort the Manga. A stack for each series:
Buso Renkin - The first set he ever completed, it had an easy to follow story and the art wasn’t buried in unnecessary layers.
Helsing: Full of blood and gore with vampires and Nazis, his mother would have burned them. Maybe that’s why he liked them so much.
Bleach: Memorable characters, with a view of the afterlife he’d never thought about before.
Twenty minutes later they were all sorted by series. Putting them in sequence wouldn’t take too much longer, but he was feeling very tired. Lack of Heme tired. He knew the feeling well. He went into the kitchen and got a wine glass, then went down to the basement for the blood.
He brought the full glass back up and sat in the easy chair. He sat down and felt something under him. Mr. Ian. He needed washing, he put him in a pillowcase and put him in the washer on gentle. He hoped he didn’t fall apart. He came back to the television and sat down again. He picked up the glass of blood. The light from the television shone through the liquid in the glass, he studied it for a minute. It looked a bit like red wine, kind of pretty through the glass. He delicately sipped it.
The program had switched to some old movie called War Games. He noticed this movie had horrible effects, but the plot was semi-believable. The props and situations were so old! It was quite amusing. He finished the glass and got up for another. He sipped it slowly as the movie finished. He looked at the clock, 5 am. Time for sleep.
When he awoke he remembered about the mess, but no time for that now. In fact he’d slept late again and had to rush to make it to work. Work was busy! He flopped into his chair at lunch, and practically fell asleep. He grabbed an energy drink to make it through the rest of the day.
The week was going by fast, he’d made it up to four glasses of blood a day. That seemed to be keeping him level. It was really nice to actually have energy. It reminded him of the first time he’d gotten Heme. It made him feel so alive, so full of energy. He’d been lethargic for so long it was amazing. Almost a brand new feeling. But it still didn’t fix the light sensitivity and after the school said they couldn’t/wouldn’t accommodate him Mother had decided to home school him. So much for actually being able to keep up with his classmates in things like P.E.
On Thursday his first package came. The on-call nurse just handed it to him. No questions. When he got home he almost threw it away, but then he remembered how good he was feeling. He wanted that feeling to last.
It was the make-up. All of it. He looked at it long enough to make sure the entire order was there, and it was the right product. He remembered the dress thrown into the downstairs coat closet. He put it in the bag with the dress, he wouldn’t need it yet. He didn’t need it, yet.
The house was partially clean. He’d cleaned up the ceramic shards in the living room. He even vacuumed it.
He hadn’t even touched downstairs yet. That was his plan for tonight. He liked the four days on, three days off schedule he had, even if they were ten hour days.
He turned on some Death Cab for Cutie: Transatlanticism. Old now, but he had just been introduced to them a couple of years ago. Hopefully it would keep him calm while cleaning.
He started with the pantry, some of it was home canned stuff, a couple of them had even broken, he'd wondered why the basement smelled like spoiled fruit. He’d need a large garbage can. Up the stairs, out to the garage, and back down. O.K., all the home canned got chucked. They were all several years out of date, and things he’d never eat anyway. That cleared almost a whole shelf.
When he was young he was the one who always got sent down for food, he guessed he should thank her that he knew how to read can labels before anything else. He organized them, that part about him he did like. You could actually FIND things that way. Maybe that’s why the killing had gone so well. He super planned it. Over-analyzed it. Every move, every possible reaction, every possible outcome.
He looked at the labels: corn, green beans, peas, and pearl onions…Oh, God! Those were definitely going somewhere, maybe the food bank, he was sure someone liked them. But not him; they looked like eyeballs, and felt chewy in his mouth, and were hard to swallow. He had to eat them practically every Sunday though. Mother had read in some recipe book it made your dish more elegant, so she added them to Sundays’ roast. Roast beef, roast pork, roast lamb, roast chicken, and even duck when Dad hunted. Every time those damn onions. He set ten cans of them to the side.
The top of the pile was mostly vegetables. He also found creamed corn, beets, All-Veg, baby corn, spinach, kidney beans, garbanzo beans, asparagus, and hominy? O.K., the hominy and spinach were going in the box. (Because by now it would definitely be a box.) He’s seen people in mess put beans on their salad. He’d try them.
Onto cans with meat in them. Spem? When did they start eating Spem? Only one can. He looked at the can, it looked really strange. And over to the side he noticed a booklet. “Cooking with Spam” that’s why she bought it, it had a recipe booklet with it. The booklet said it was released in 1974. No wonder that can looked strange. It was scarily old. He chucked it. The booklet might be worth something though. He set it to the side.
O.K. - chili, canned chicken chunks, pork and beans, tuna, canned salmon, canned beef in gravy. Must be things his Dad bought after mother left. She didn’t much go for canned meats. It was always fresh as she could get. Unless Dad brought home a Deer or Elk or something. Most of that made it to the freezer. He hadn’t even looked in the chest freezer in the garage since he’d gotten here. He hoped it was empty, because the last time dad could actually make it out hunting Chris had been thirteen. He seemed to lose the want to when the Prophyria hit. Said he didn’t like hunting without his boy. If it did have Deer (or Elk) in it, it would be far too old to eat.
He decided to take the canned meat to the kitchen, and get a box for the others. Just because she’d had all the food downstairs didn’t mean he had to! Things that he’d bought since coming home had been sparse. He usually ate at work.
Back downstairs, boxed foods next, there weren’t many of these either. A few boxes of macaroni and cheese he was sure had weevils in them. Some Rice-a-Toni, and some potato mixes. All of them had dust, and the packaging looked to be from the ’80s. He chucked them all.
O.K. that pile was back in place. He looked at the bins at the bottom of the pantry. Dry beans, rice, lentils, and sugar. These seemed to be fine. He left them.
Now to clean up the rest of the room. The flashlight he’d broken the bulb in, and it was really old anyway. He chucked it. The 8-tracks were tapes of sermons. He chucked them as well. There were over thirty of them, the garbage was getting pretty full. He wondered if sweeping up the papers would be faster than picking up every one. He tried. All the did was float up and around made it even worse. They must have been transcripts of the sermons, all mimeographed, he chucked them as well. The garbage was completely full now!
In fact he had trouble getting the can up the stairs. He’d also forgotten he lived here now and hadn’t bothered to separate it for burning. Fuck it, he’d take a load to the dump or something.
He walked back into the kitchen, and looked at the pile of utensils and other things from the drawers on the floor. The top of the pile were the fancy dinner napkins they’d used on Sundays. He picked them up and put them in a box he’d brought in from outside. Those and the memories they carried would definitely be going bye-bye.
Apparently the nice silver had been in with them. That he did want to keep. This was going to take a while! Everything had gotten mixed with everything else. He was so regretting that now.
He needed a break, he went downstairs and turned on the computer. He’d missed some IMs. Nothing too important, just people wondering where he was. He opened Utube. Some people he liked had made some videos. He watched a few Vlogs, and some indie music videos. He then clicked on a related video to make-up tips. He actually watched it, with interest.
By this time it was early morning. He crawled into bed, exhausted.
***
The next evening after he got up and had a breakfast of eggs and sausage (with two glasses of blood), friend3 called.
“Hey!”
“Hey,”
“Want to go to a party tonight?”
“Sure. Where?”
“ Alan’s, it’s just a few people, spur of the moment thing.”
He paused. “I haven’t seen or heard from you for a couple weeks. Everything O.K.?”
“Yeah, just still settling in. Found an old teddy bear. Made me think of things.”
“Your mom. Dude, I’m sorry. Well, come, O.K.?”
“What time?’
“At about eight, I can come pick you up.”
“Great, see you then. Bye.”
“Bye.”
It was only six, plenty of time to get ready. friend3 was his one true friend. The one who still came to see him after the onset of the disease, the one who snuck him comics and fantasy books, like Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings. He also would cover for him for things.
The times he’d gone with him to supposedly see The Passion of the Christ again, in fact he’d supposedly gone to see it four times. His mother was so happy he’d liked it that much. In truth he’d only seen it the one time the family had gone together. But Friend3 was his alibi.
He’d been so happy when Chris had moved, he even offered to let him stay with them. But Chris had said no. Knowing his alternate lifestyle would affect everyone in the house, and sooner or later they’d regret it.
He’d taken a shower and put on something he hoped was O.K. he’d only been to Alan’s once, and if he remembered right he was kind of stuck up. But he needed to get his mind off of things.
Friend3 was on time, he honked and Chris went out to the car. Nickelback was blasting out of the car. Chris didn’t like them, but he did like friend3, so he got in and pushed skip on the ePod. Neutral Milk Hotel came up. Much better.
When they got to the party it was a bit bigger than friend3 had said it would be, Chris knew two people. So he stayed very close to Friend3. The beer was decent, and after a few of them it made him feel very nice. But he knew he couldn’t get drunk. Drunks talk, about everything.
Friend3, however got plastered and passed out. It’s a good thing there were others at the party. He got a couple of them to help him get Friend3 to the car so he could drive back to his house. He’d wake in the car. But Chris could not afford to be there when the sun came up. No protection. They’d think he was “over-reacting”. Half the people he’d meet when he’d tell them what he had had never heard of it, so they think it isn’t real, or in his head. It got so annoying! He’d mostly just watched friend3 talk to other people. He hoped they could do something alone next time. It was so much easier. He didn’t feel intimidated one on one like he did at things like this.
He drove them to his house, and left the keys in the ignition. They’d done this a couple of times. He knew when Friend3 woke, he’d just slide over and drive home. He was tired, and even though he should have done something productive, he walked over to the bed and collapsed.
He woke earlier than usual, it was still daylight outside and his clock said 3pm. It was a good thing the curtains in the basement were thick. Even the little bit of light could cause horrible blisters that took weeks to disappear. He started to go upstairs and stopped halfway up. Sunlight? Coming from where. Upstairs had thick curtains too. He went to the closet, grabbed winter gloves, a ski mask, dark sunglasses, and his thick winter coat - he couldn’t be trapped downstairs. He needed the toilet. He was also starving.
He put the gear on and started back up the stairs. Then changed his mind and went back for a weapon. What if someone was in the house? He grabbed Dad’s deer rifle, the shells were next to it. He’d pulled it in from the garage earlier, but hadn’t had time to do more than bring it into the house. He wish he’d made it more of a priority now. The shells were old, and it looked as if the box had gotten wet. He opened the chamber, checked the barrel, and loaded it. He clicked it shut and put more shells in his coat pocket. Then holding the gun in front of him, cautiously walked up the stairs. At the top of the stairs he saw that the light was from the kitchen window. It had gotten pulled over…was there someone in the house?
He looked around the kitchen, nothing else seemed disturbed. He heard something. He put the gun up to his shoulder and when the shadow came close enough he fired, he heard a click…
Nothing.
The shadow came closer, he didn’t have time to reload, whomever it was came into view. It was Margo! Instantly he was glad the gun had not gone off. He called her to him and (like most cats) she just looked at him. So, he went over to her and asked her ”Did you move the curtain?“ as if she could answer. She blinked at him and walked into the living room. Maybe she had? He’d only been here a few weeks. Maybe since he’d been gone Mother had let her into the windows? He’d have to tack them to the walls. Right after he shut this one, so he could pee and eat. Then he noticed.
He’d already peed. Shower, then eat.
He went back down the stairs and peeled everything off, the winter items got thrown on the bed, everything else into the washer. It was then he noticed Mr. Ian, he’d never moved him to the dryer. He did and turned it on. The house was so old you either did laundry OR had a shower. He chose the shower first. He grabbed a new outfit and headed up the stairs in the buff. This was also a sin, and he yelled ‘See! Mother! See!” even he wasn’t sure why.
The shower was upstairs but the water heater was in the basement. He remembered when he was young mother didn’t want to waste water so the first few inches of water in the bath was ice cold, and just about the time the water got nice and warm out of the spout, she’d stop filling the tub. So he turned it on and waited, and had the longest shower, all warm. He wasn’t sure why he felt like spiting her today, but it sure felt good!
He dried, dressed and came downstairs to start the washer. Then went back up to finally eat. He’d gone past starving awhile ago, but he could not eat smelling like piss. He grabbed a can of tuna and made a sandwich. Actually, two of them.
He also took a coffee cup and went down and filled it with blood, he was getting more used to the taste now, it was as if you put a penny in you mouth and sucked on it. But more crisp and sharp, and it stayed in the back of his throat for awhile. But it made him feel so good.
The sun had gone down now, he had the entire evening to either clean, work on the gun, or play on the internet. He decided he’d better work on the gun. He went out to the garage and looked for the gun cleaning kit. It was old and the pre-soaked cleaning pads were dried out. Completely. He looked for more solvent. The kit was actually his. The whole kit was there, rod, bore brush, solvent, drying pads. He remembered Dad always keeping the guns ready when he was young.
Ah, yes, a container of solvent. He took it back into the house. He sat down in the living room and flipped on FUSE, the rock video station. My Chemical Romance played while he put cleaner on a pad and put the rod in, up and down he cleaned to the beat of the song. The pad was black almost immediately. He put another on the end of the rod and pushed it up and down, up and down. AFI came on, another pad. Up and down vigorously. This thing was so dirty! He switched to the bore brush, the solvent he was sure by now had loosened some of the dirt. Boy had it ever, big chuncks came up whenever he pulled the brush out. Perhaps he should have put some paper down? He set the gun against a chair and spread an old paper on the floor. He didn’t want to have to try and get this mess out of the carpet. He’d also forgotten how strong the smell of the solvent was. It took his mind back, back to hunting trips, back to before he couldn’t be out in the sun, back to the first time he’d actually hit the can he was aiming at. Dad was so proud! He wondered if he could even hit anything anymore. He’d have to go out and see. If Margo really had been an intruder, Chris could have been dead.
The brush wasn’t getting chunks anymore, he switched back to the rod and a pad with solvent, he soaked it heavily. Up and down, up and down. Seether came on ‘Rise Above This’ he actually liked this video. The motion went with the beat again, and the gun became a spur of the moment microphone.
“Call your name everyday, when I feel so helpless
I'm fallen down but I'll rise above this, rise above this
Hate your mind, regrets are better left unspoken
For all we know this void will grow
And everything's in vain, distressing you, don't leave me open
Feels so right that I'll end this all before it gets me”
He stopped singing for a second, Margo came in and rubbed his leg. He’d forgotten to feed her again. While he was getting the food he continued…
“I'll mend myself before it gets me
I'll mend myself before it gets me
I'll mend myself before it gets me
I'll mend myself before it gets me
Call your name everyday when I feel so helpless
I'm fallen down but I'll rise above this, rise above this
Forty eight ways to say that I'm feeling helpless
Fallen down and I'll rise above this, rise above this
Rise above this, rise above this now”
His mother would’ve hated that song. She wouldn’t be able to get past the style of it to actually listen to the lyrics, and he just sang it out loud in her house. He smiled.
He filled Margo’s water too. The gun was getting slightly cleaner, after three more heavily soaked pads he switched to the bore brush again. More chunks. It’s a good thing he put the paper down, it was getting quite black. In and out, up and down. His arm was getting sore. The chunks became smaller and he switched back to the rod. He didn’t remember it ever taking this long before. But then, they had cleaned them before and after they went out. Target practice or actual hunting.
He went down memory lane again, Dad teaching him how to hold the gun, how to sight something in, and he remembered something else. Sharing a tent with his uncle, who snored. He laughed out loud and changed back to the bore brush. No more chunks. Maybe he was closer to having it clean than he thought.
He put more solvent on yet another pad, there were over twenty littering the paper now, and continued going up and down, in and out. FUSE switched to something heavier and it was just a bit screamy for his taste. He grabbed the remote to switch stations.
He’d had the satellite hooked up before he’d even come back, friend3 had let them in, his mother of course didn’t even consider it. Though at the home she had found the televangelist channels wonderful.
He found a late night slasher movie. Some college kids up in a cabin getting killed off one by one. It was gory, and they all screamed a lot. He was enjoying it though, while still cleaning the gun. Would the pads ever come out clean?
Halfway through the movie the pads finally started coming out grey instead black, his arm was getting really sore by now. He’d had to rest a few times. He was glad that for some reason Dad had bought a really large box of them, he would have been out long ago otherwise.
Near the end of the movie the pad finally came out clean! That had taken forever, and he had a huge mess of them at his feet.
He was also hungry. He went to the kitchen and opened two cans of chili. The smell of the solvent was still in his nose, but opening the cans of chili helped with that. He’d purchased cheese and sour cream. This would be good. While the chili heated on the stove, he grated some cheese and stirred the container of sour cream. He also went down for another cup of blood. When the chili was hot enough he smothered the chili with the cheese and sour cream and sat down to eat.
Sadly he did not think of the clash of flavors with the blood.
After the first bite, and then the first sip of blood he knew he needed milk instead. He put the glass in the fridge intending to drink it later, and poured a large glass of milk. Margo came and rubbed his legs and meowed. Little beggar. He got up and poured her a saucer of milk.
He didn’t know where this appetite was from but he quite liked it, his skinny frame could do with a bit of bulk.
He went back into the living room, now that the gun was clean on the inside, the outside needed cleaned as well. He put the gun oil on a soft cotton cloth and began rubbing the outside of the gun. It didn’t take long and came out all nice and shiny.
He just thought of another problem. How would he practice shooting if he couldn’t be in the sun?
He walked downstairs to put the gun by the bed, he’d have to buy some decent shells, if the one didn’t work, chances were they all were duds. His computer glowed on the desk. He needed interaction.
He opened his browser and went on a search for a chat he’d never used. There was a “local friends” chat. He chose “California” and then “Just a friendly chat”.
After all this was just an experiment. He entered “Kris” for a chat name and entered the room. He also put Kris’s IM in the info.
Kris has entered the room.
Huluman: Oh, right pixie.
Salem: You couldn’t if you tried.
R. : You can’t even spell.
Kris: Hello.
Pixie: can two spel
Iantric: LOL, no, no, you clearly cannot.
Sarah: Leave her be, she’s probably young.
Huluman: Well, then she doesn’t belong here.
Iantric: I am young.
R.: Yes, but you can spell.
Pais: Pixie, either learn to spell, or quit getting upset when people make fun of you for not being able to.
Pais: Oh, and hello Kris.
Huluman: As I was saying, stay away from McRonald’s in south Anehiem, outbreak of food poisoning.
Iantric: Oh, where did you hear that?
Pixie: ewww
Pais: Are you sure they aren’t just sick?
Huluman: No, it’s real. It’s a friend.
Kris: Have they been to the hospital?
Huluman: Yes, still there.
Salem: That’s sad, I’m sorry.
Iantric: So, Kris - A/S/L
Kris: 21, Female, Fresno
R.: I’m in Fresno.
Kris: Why is your name a letter?
Salem: Welcome Kris.
R.: It’s easier.
Kris: Thank you Salem.
Pixie: I dun wan tok ‘bout food poisening, N e 1 want to tok abt movies?
Kris: Do you really type that way all the time Pixie?
Pixie: naw, skool stuff I hafta spel
Kris: Then why do it in here?
Iantric: It IS rather annoying.
Salem: I agree.
Huluman: Please Pixie, use English, or move to another room for younger people.
Pixie: I dun hafta take this.
User Pixie has left the room.
Sarah: She was so hard to read!
Sarah: Hello Kris, I am female, 18, and in Carlsbad.
Huluman: Yo! dude, I’m 17, and in San Diego.
Huluman, Oh yeah, and male.
Pais: Hey Kris, 25, female, San Francisco!
Salem: Hello Kris, I am also in san fran.
And the chat went on, he stayed in it for a good hour learning things about them, like where they worked, what their interests were. Why they were also awake at four in the morning. They all seemed perfectly fine with him “being” a girl. But he knew he’d need a picture soon. Before the next chat.
He signed off. He wanted ice cream. He didn’t now where the craving came from but it was there. Super strong. Did he even have any? He checked the freezer in the kitchen and found a whole chicken, some steaks, and several T.V. dinners, but no ice cream. But the fridge was old and the freezer small, so maybe Dad had put some in the chest freezer in the garage. He threw on a jacket and went out to the garage. The freezer was running, so it had to have something in it. He walked over and opened it. A stack of Salisbury steak meals, probably twenty of them, and a 5 gallon bucket of chocolate ice cream. It hadn’t even been touched. YES!
He came back into the house and made a huge bowl of ice cream, not as big as that kid did in Home Alone, but still very large. He went downstairs, flicked on the big screen and went for some old sci-fi. There was a Twilight Zone marathon going. He’d only seen a couple so he watched with keen interest. He fell asleep in the chair with a still half-full bowl of ice cream while the episode Living Doll was beginning:
Talky Tina, the doll that does everything, a lifelike creation of plastic and springs and painted smile. To Erich Streator, she is a most unwelcome addition to his household- but without her, he'd never enter The Twilight Zone.
He awoke with the television on a horrible dinosaur show and he and the chair covered in melted chocolate ice cream. Margo was lapping the small puddle that still remained in the bowl. It’s a good thing he had plenty of time to get ready for work, this time he needed it. He showered, dressed, and got out the shopvac to attack the chair with, he put it by it, but he’d have to do it when he came back from work.
Work was slow, he sneaked an IV port and two blood bags throughout the day. He’d thought about sneaking Heme once or twice, but here they counted it; and besides, if he did take it, someone else would have to wait even longer for theirs.
When he got home and walked in the door a wall of sour milk smell greeted him, he couldn’t imagine the smell had it been summer!
He didn’t even change, he went down and immediately started working on the chair. Margot went and hid. She hated the sound of that thing. This shopvac was really old and not really intended to be a furniture cleaner. He made do with it though, over the same spots again and again. Not only was he getting the chocolate ice cream, he was getting years of dirt. The water was almost black at first. Ewwww. He didn’t feel like running up and down the stairs so the dirty water went into the washer. After three buckets he ran a spin cycle to get it down the drain.
He also realized the chair was not brown as he’d thought. It was a very a very bright ‘70s orange. No wonder his mother had banished it to the basement.
About two hours later the front of the chair was a very, very bright orange and the water was coming up clear. He took a break. Though the chair still had a brown back, he figured that wouldn’t take nearly as long, no foam for the dirt to get down into. However, it had wasted most of his evening. He dumped the vacuum full of water into the washer. He went over to the fridge and grabbed the cup of blood from earlier. It has coagulated and turned brown. Oops. He dumped that into the washer too and turned it onto a new spin. He also realized he’d skipped it yesterday, that had to be why he’d fallen asleep in the chair! He went and got a large milk glass and filled it with blood. The early morning news was talking about a storm coming up. It gave him an idea. Storms can kill idiots who go out in them, can’t they.
He checked his supply, over half gone. He’d have to plan something soon, and he wasn’t even close to ready. He’d only talked to those people once. No one lets you come over after talking to them once. Some do pick you up for a concert after talking for a week though. He’d been himself then, and it was actually just for a concert. This would be harder.
He looked at the clock 3 am. Maybe he’d play around a bit with the make-up and get a picture up tonight.
He went to the coat closet and pulled out the bag, he remembered watching his mother put on makeup. Only once a week. For church, for the lord. Any other time it was vanity, she’d said.
He started with the foundation, the first one was much too dark, the next too light, and they didn’t really come off all that well. How the hell was he supposed to do this? Then he remembered, Mother had some cleaner stuff she used after church. He went looking for it. Ah, yes, that worked.
This was going to be more difficult than he thought. He looked at her makeup. All dried out now. But he pulled one and held it against the foundations he’d bought. One tube matched really well. He tried that. It looked much better. Why hadn’t he thought of that before!?
It felt so weird though, like he was purposefully getting his face dirty. He decided he needed the blush next, but he had no idea how to apply it. He basically attacked his face with it, as if he was trying to make his cheeks happy trees. This did not work, his cheeks looked like he had measles or something.
He sighed, this was indeed going to take some practice. He decided to try the eyeliner. His eyes didn’t like that at all, the blinked and teared up. How on earth did they get it straight and even?
How about the eye shadow, that went slightly smoother, though he got far too much on and too high.
The mascara he’d saved for last, and of course poked his eyes with it, and got it on the eyelids he’d just done, and had “tarantula” eyes. He didn’t even attempt using the eyelash curler. His fingers were covered in make-up as well. How the hell did women do this?
He looked in the mirror. Kris looked like a drag queen whore who’d been beaten up. That would never do. He definitely needed practice. He washed his face with his mother's cold cream. Chris stared back at him in the mirror.
He went down to the computer. He did a web search for “putting on make up“. Several videos came up. He watched a few and leaned that you are supposed to “paint” the blush on the apple of your cheek, and hold your eyelid down for the eyeliner. The eye shadow is supposed to be just that, a shadow. He’d put far too much mascara on. He would figure this out. But it was late. Time for bed. For some reason he wanted Mr. Ian to sleep with, so he pulled him out of the dryer. He’d come out rather nice, fluffy and clean. He fell asleep holding the bear in his arms.
***
When he awoke a chill had settled in. Autumn was finally here. The news said it had gone below freezing in the night. Margo had been curled up beside him. Though she was a white long haired Persian, she still didn’t like winter. He hadn’t made coffee in the morning now for a couple of weeks, just a glass of blood. He had woken earlier than usual and took it down and went onto the internet.
Michael was awake. He IMed him
Chris: Hey.
Michael: YO!
Chris: How’s life?
Michael: Fine, got good grades on my last report card. You in the mood for a game?
Chris: Not really. I was just wondering if you‘d heard about the storm coming your way?
Michael: Yeah, supposed to be here on Thursday. Dad has the storm cellar all checked out for it. He made me help.
Chris: There aren’t many storms there, why do you have a storm cellar?
Michael: Mom and Dad moved here from Kansas so they put one in.
Chris: I was thinking of visiting…
Michael: Bad, bad timing. Unless you want to be stuck in a storm cellar with me and my parents.
Chris: Maybe next time then.
Michael: Yeah maybe. Hey, Darren wants to play Halo, I’ll talk to you later , k?
Chris: Okay.
Another message came onto his screen, for Kris, from Salem.
Salem: Hey.
Kris: Hey sweetie.
Salem. What are you doing?
Kris: Wasting time before work. You?
Salem. Trying to get a face right on a painting.
Kris: You paint?
Salem: Yeah, just something for fun. (link)
Kris : Oh, nice.
Salem. Thanks, so what sort of work do you do again?
Kris: I am a night duty nurse.
Salem: Ah, that has to be difficult.
Kris: Not really. Everyone is usually asleep. I am not in the E.R or anything.
Salem: I see…
And they talked for an hour. Salem was very pleasant. He didn’t even ask for a picture. Though Chris knew he would need one soon.
Work went smoothly, and on his way to lunch Margie called him over to the nurses station. He had a package. And she said “Wigs? What did you order wigs for?“ Chris said ”I’d ordered them for Halloween, but they were on backorder. I figured I can still use them next year.” He smiled . She smiled back, and turned to her computer.
He had to get this picture done. It was getting closer to the end of the month and his blood supply was almost half gone. When he got home he a dug out the make-up again. After fighting with it for nearly two hours, applying, taking it off, applying again, and taking it off. He finally managed something that was not Ru-paul.
He got out the wigs. He had decided Kris would have long hair first, that way later she could dye it, and cut it. Blonde first then. He already had blonde hair, so the eyebrows did not pose the problem they could have.
He put the wig on, but he had stragglers of hair under it. He then remembered seeing someone put hose on their head before putting on a wig. He went to see if Mother had any, she did. He cut the end of one of the legs off, and plastered his real hair to his head with it, the wig looked much better now. In fact he looked pretty, really pretty. He hadn’t even used the mascara this time. Perhaps he wouldn’t need to.
He went to get the dress, he’d actually remembered to put the white turtleneck on. He would look very prudish. But he wanted to. The shelfmart dress had a white background, with slightly puffed sleeves. He chose a thin silver chain with a small pendant to wear. He’d make sure his hair covered his ears for now. He wouldn’t worry about earrings yet.
He took four or five pictures, one smiling, one sad, one with no expression, one pouty, it was kind of fun actually. He chose a slightly bemused one and uploaded it to the IM, and the friends chat.
For some reason R. noticed this. He left Kris a comment on his profile. “You need a different lipstick.”
Kris IMed him back.
Kris: Why?
R. : Too dark for you, looks funny.
Kris. Thanks, I guess?
R. You’ll get the hang of it.
Kris: The hang of what?
R. Make-up. I bet your mom wouldn’t let you wear it.
Kris: Is it that obvious?
R. No, most guys won’t notice.
Kris: Then how come you do?
R. I just do. Your dress is also very…um…Christian.
R. Later.
Chris still wasn’t sure how to read R., but he couldn’t worry about it now. He was still in the dress. The dress R. insulted. He decided he might need something fancier and went looking online.
Now that he had a size, he went looking at sites like Macey’s and DEB. Special occasion ball gown? Too fancy. Club wear? Maybe. Special occasion short? That looked promising. Something with straps for sure, he had nothing to hold a strapless up with. The prom dresses were really fancy, he just wanted something elegant. Something short, so he could walk in it. He sighed. This was going to take longer than he thought. He didn’t want to look like a fake barbie doll.
Some of these things were hideous. Big puffy sleeves, or huge loud prints. Or skirts so tight he didn’t see how anyone could walk with them on. He just wanted something simple, but pretty. Something… something that said feminine.
He also needed better boobs. The socks he was currently wearing were A. rubbing his skin just the little time he wore them, and B. looked fairly lumpy. The picture he used had barely any of them in it. Just enough to tell Kris wasn’t flat-chested. But if he was going to show up somewhere as Kris, and go out to dinner, or a movie, or something, they had to look real.
First he found costume ones, they didn’t look like they’d work at all. Then a site to make your own with water balloons and rice, jello, or pudding. They looked cold, and suppose one decided to leak? Perhaps they’d work for pictures though. Then he found breast forms. Those looked promising. He spent a least an hour on the site. Reading the cautions, seeing how they worked. The price was steeper than he had anticipated, but he needed this to work. He’d already started, no turning back now. He’d order them later. He’d try the cheaper route first.
He’d also found a place for shoes. The internet was such a wonderful place when you needed to be secretive. They were expensive as well. This was going to take a bit longer than he’d anticipated.
He got up and out of the dress , he’d been in it for several hours now. As he was undressing he thought about his legs. He’d have to shave them. Though he was blonde, he had hair you could most definitely see.
He left the dress in a pile, but put the wig on the corner of the mirror. His mother didn’t have a wig stand he could steal. He used the cold cream on his face and took a shower.
Then changed into pajama’s for another “evening” of ice cream and late night Television. Purchasing things would have to wait.